Bryan
* * *
There was a phone number for his hotel. I stared at the note as if it would reveal the answer. Should I go? I still felt raw inside now that I knew the truth. I’d been tricked, and even if he’d felt he had to set me free in college, I’d rather he’d have told me he loved me before he left. Instead, he said nothing, and I felt like I was played for a fool.
I was left empty-handed, a broken-hearted idiot.
But if my presence would help Made Here launch a new line of cuff links fashioned out of the leftover promises from the lover’s bridge, well, that seemed fitting for our relationship of leftover promises. And it was the sort of thing a protégé should do. It was business after all.
I handed the paper to the clerk and asked him to call The W and confirm a car for pickup.
Orange flames glowed in the nearby fireplace, warming the restaurant. The waiter cleared away our dinner plates as Gabrielle Roussillon informed him that the meal was marvelous. She’d had rabbit and asparagus. I’d had chicken and roasted potatoes, and while I couldn’t vouch for the bunny, my French yardbird was indeed fantastic. The white tablecloth was now marked with a splotch of red wine from where Gabrielle had spilled some of her drink while talking with her hands.
Gabrielle was a chatty woman and had commanded the conversation. The pleasant result was I could focus on her rather than Bryan as she told bawdy tales of when she’d lived in Rome, and of all her affairs with Italian men. I laughed, not simply to humor her, but because she was one of those in-your-face people who could tell a saucy tale with a particular panache. She was curvy and broad-shouldered, with sheets of jet-black hair. She wore a ring on her left index finger and mentioned a husband once or twice. I wondered if it was an open marriage. Whether he had a mistress and she had misters, like her Italian lovers. From the conversation, it didn’t seem that long ago that she’d been in Italy.
She leaned back in her chair and tapped a charm on her necklace. It was one of mine, and the charm was a pizza pie. “I don’t know if you remember this, but I ordered it online from you a year ago.”
I flipped through my mental file of necklace orders. I certainly didn’t remember all of them, but a pizza charm stood out. “It’s not often that I get a request for a pizza pie. I think I found it at a toy shop. I can’t believe that’s yours.”
“Small world. It’s for all my Italian men.”
“But of course,” Bryan said. I didn’t look at him. I’d barely looked at him most of the night. My heart was still sore.
“And yours?” Gabrielle pointed at my throat. “What’s on yours?”
I walked her through some of my charms, telling her the same stories I’d told Bryan that afternoon in Washington Square Park—the English major I never became, and the building that I almost moved into.
“And this one?” Gabrielle touched my movie camera charm. “Were you almost a movie director?”
I laughed and shook my head. “No.”
“Then what is this for? Is it to remind you to stop watching movies?”
“Sort of.” I looked at the fireplace to avoid eye contact. I’d never told Bryan about the movie camera. I’d never told anyone but Jill what it stood for.
“Kat, Kat, Kat. A woman like me knows when a woman is lying. What is the movie camera for?”
I returned my focus to the French civil servant Bryan needed to charm. “It’s for a boy.”
“And who is this boy?”
“My first love. He was my first favorite mistake.”
“Ah. See! I knew it wasn’t just about the cinema. Tell me about him.” Gabrielle placed her elbow on the table and tucked her chin in her hand, waiting for a story. I glanced briefly at Bryan. He was watching the two of us.
“I met him when I was eighteen.”
“Young love. The best kind.”
“And he was wonderful. And kind. And funny. He made me laugh. And he kissed like a dream.”
“He definitely wasn’t a Frenchman, because they kiss like bores!”
“We used to go to the movies together all the time, and we made out in the theater.”
“That is why I say young love is the best kind. You can’t keep your hands off each other.”
I nodded as waiters circled the small restaurant, clearing tables and serving other diners. Low music played overhead, tunes like those sung by the torch singer who’d lived across from me when I’d called this city home. Songs of love gone away or love gone awry.
“But he broke my heart.”
“And you vowed to guard your heart?”
“Yes.”
“And you still pine for this man?”
“Yes,” I said, a hitch in my throat.
“You are beautiful, and you are still so young. We cannot have a young, beautiful, smart woman in love with a boy who doesn’t care for her.”
“He does care for her.” The words came from Bryan. I turned to him, to look into his green eyes with their hints of gold. Those eyes practically infiltrated me with the way they knew me. “He always cared for her. He always loved her. He’s madly in love with her. She’s his Love Actually. She’s his Casablanca. She’s the one he’d stop the bus for, the one he’d dodge traffic for, the one worth sprinting through the terminal to stop the plane. Her name’s above the title for him. She’s the opening credit and the closing credit. She’s the love of his life.”
Then, in a voice so low only I could hear, he whispered, “Forgive me.”
Hidden by the white tablecloth, I reached for his hand. He laced his fingers through mine, squeezing tight. I squeezed back, and I let go of the hurt. I let go of the ache. I let go of the past.
“He is not a mistake, then,” Gabrielle announced.
“He’s not. He’s the one,” I said.
Gabrielle raised her wineglass, now nearly drained of its contents. “We shall drink a toast to love, and drink a toast to business. You have a deal to buy the old padlocks from the city of Paris.”
31
Kat
Present Day
* * *
Bryan opened the door to the town car he’d reserved. Gabrielle gave him a kiss on each cheek then got inside. He shut the door, and we both waved as the driver sped off to take her home. We crossed the cobbled street and turned onto the sidewalk running along the Seine. The muted yellow gaslight from the street lamps flickered and illuminated our path along the slate-gray ribbon that sliced its way through the city.
“You were amazing back there,” he said.
“Oh, you’re too sweet.”
“I would call you a good luck charm, but I’m pretty sure it’s a hell of a lot more than luck that just went down in there.” He walked a few steps, glancing at me with a smile in his eyes. “Brains, talent, beauty, brilliance. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I’m not terribly good at cooking or gardening.”
He snapped his fingers as if disappointed. Then he turned serious, more earnest. “Kat, thank you. Thank you so much for what you did.”
“I’m glad I could be of help.”
Bryan reached for my hand. “Am I allowed to hold your hand? Or does that break the on-ice rules?”
“I’ll bend on this one, just for a moment.”
We turned onto the Pont du Carrousel that arced over the river. A dinner boat tour floated underneath the bridge, its lights drawing yellow squiggly lines along the water. The Louvre watched over us from nearby.
He drew me to a stop and then took my other hand, holding both as we faced each other. Holding my gaze, too, so I couldn’t look away. “Would you bend on another one? Because I’d really like to kiss you by the Seine.”
I gave barely a nod before he pulled me close and dusted his lips against mine, leaving a soft, wet kiss behind.
“We should stop. We should be good.”
“Maybe. But not before I tell you that I’m crazy in love with you, Kat. Before I promise I’ll never stop telling you that.” He smiled both tenderly and
tentatively. “I have five years’ worth of I love yous bottled up, and I don’t want to hoard them, so I’ll say it again. I’m madly in love with you, Kat Harper.”
I felt like I was spinning and glimmering, his words lighting a fuse in me. “Fine,” I said with a smile, much calmer than I felt. “That earns you one more kiss.”
He pressed his lips to mine, tracing them with his tongue and making me shiver. I looped my arms around him, underneath his jacket and against his shirt. He ran his hands through my hair, moving closer. The railing of the bridge was against my back, and the space between us was compressed. My body melted into his, and I inhaled his cool, clean skin. I wanted to feel him, touch him, taste him, have him. I was foolish to ever think I could have resisted.
Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I could have waited five more weeks.
All of that and more was true.
But I ceased caring and stopped reasoning. I tossed the rules, along with caution, into the Seine.
Because I was in Paris with the only man I’d ever loved.
I felt fluttery and twitchy. I didn’t know if it was fear or desire. Either way, there was no turning back. I was with Bryan, wherever we were going. I didn’t feel guilty, I didn’t feel naughty, I didn’t feel wrong. I stepped into our future as I broke the kiss. “Take me to your hotel room.”
I’d never in my life seen a man hail a cab so fast.
The taxi slowed down for a light on the rue de Rivoli. I peered ahead, noting the clogged street in front of us, the boulevard packed with cars. Since we wouldn’t reach the W for another ten minutes at this rate, I closed the scratched-up partition that separated us from the driver.
“It’s like you can read my mind,” Bryan said, and returned for a deeper kiss, kissing me until the taxi pulled up to the hotel, and he handed several bills to the driver. He made a brief stop at the front desk, and then we stepped into a waiting elevator. As the doors closed, he placed his hand on the small of my back. We made it to the fourth floor, down the hall, and to his room. He slid the card key in the door, and once inside, I tore off my coat, and he tossed off his jacket.
His room was heavenly, with a gorgeous gilded mirror and antique nightstands. French windows, fittingly, led to a balcony. But I had little interest in the surroundings when there was a king-size bed with a soft white down comforter that called my name. I longed to be naked on it with my legs wrapped around Bryan.
He stood behind me and ran his hands along my arms. He reached my hands, clasping my fingers in his, and whispered in my ear, “Do you have any idea how much I want to make love to you right now?”
“How much?”
“More than I have ever wanted anything before.” He swept my hair from my neck and kissed me there, sending tingles of insane pleasure down my spine. I understood the word “swoon” in a whole new way. He walked me to the bed and laid me down, then pulled off my boots. He ran his hands up the inside of my legs. Every touch thrilled me. Every second of contact sent me higher.
“You have far too many clothes on, Kat.”
“Take them off. Take them all off.”
He unzipped my skirt and gently removed it, placing it on the nearby chair. My sweater was next, and he groaned when he saw me in only my bra and panties. Then it was my turn. I sat up and unknotted his tie then began on his shirt, enjoying the release of each button as I trailed my hands down the white T-shirt underneath. One shirt came off, then the other, and I pulled back to admire him. His chest was broad and sturdy, his stomach flat and cut. I ran my teeth over my bottom lip as I looked down at his pants, at how turned on he was.
He unhooked my bra and touched my breasts and somehow made me even hotter for him. He kneeled to strip off my underwear, then kissed my ankle and traced a line up my calf to behind my knee. My insides were on fire. My body was aflame. He pressed a palm gently against my belly, guiding me back onto the bed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as he returned to my thighs, grazing his tongue between my legs, tasting my desire for him.
I gasped in pleasure and arched against him as he traced long, soft, lingering lines up and down.
“It’s better than I ever dreamed,” I whispered between ragged breaths as I grabbed at his soft, thick hair. His firm hands hugged my thighs, and he made a sound like I was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.
The way he moved his tongue, the way his lips kissed me, made me believe nothing else existed. This pleasure was all there was, it was all I felt, all I wanted—to be spread open to him, to have his mouth devouring me, to say his name, and then to cry out in crazy ecstasy. Nothing could ever be better than this.
He moved up, and I was tipsy, buzzed from the most delicious drink ever—the way he knew me, the way the secret treasure map to my body had been his to follow. He looked satisfied with his work as he began to unbuckle his pants. I sat up to help, dying to see him fully naked. He stepped back from the bed, letting his pants fall to the floor, then I pulled down his boxer briefs. God, he was beautiful, carved and hard as steel. My hand had a mind of its own. He pressed his teeth against his lip and cursed quietly in pleasured agony as I touched him.
Then he reached for a condom.
He hovered over me and teased me with his kisses, keeping me on my back, brushing his lips across my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids, even the tip of my nose. Even that felt good from him. Everything felt good with Bryan. I sighed as he kissed my neck and then threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling me close.
“Tell me what you want, Kat. I want to hear you say it.”
“I want you to make love to me.”
I’d never said “make love” to anyone before. Bryan was the only person I’d ever loved, and I’d never been with him like this. The way it seemed on the silver screen, with the big love of your life. When young love and passion turn to smoldering tenderness in the sheets. The waiting, the wanting, the longing, as bodies come together skin against skin, nothing held back, no distance, no time, no pretending. It had always seemed so perfect, so epic, so out of this world.
Now, here I was, feeling more than I’d ever imagined.
I placed my hands on his firm, toned chest, tracing his skin, his muscles, searing them into my memory now that I finally could, now that I finally knew what he felt like. He parted my legs and entered me, and I moaned as he filled me. Who said it was supposed to feel this good? But it did. Beyond any and all reason.
“You,” he said softly, looking at me. “You.”
He buried himself in me, and I was in another world, in another time. I was drowning in pleasure, swallowed whole by desire. I was all the air I’d ever breathed. I was the edge of reason, and nothing else existed but the feeling of him moving deep inside of me, his body touching mine at last. Heat rose in my chest, a fire radiating from my center to the tips of my fingers, the far reaches of my eyelashes, and through to the inside and out of my heart, as if it might burst with all the feelings—love, lust, want, and then, most of all, ecstatic and utter happiness. Completeness. Allness. I was lost, and then I was found, and I was suddenly aware of every sensation in my body. Of how he placed a hand on my hip, how his breath tasted good, how the soft little never-shaven hairs on the backs of my thighs stood on end. I’d gone to heaven still alive, and everything felt ravishing as he plunged into me, gripped my wrists, and brought me there again.
And when it ended, when we lay sated in bed, I outlined his body with my fingertips, planting little kisses across the hard planes of his belly, the firm muscles of his arms, the breadth of his chest that felt like home. We were silent for another moment, then I felt his hand slip into mine.
It was the laughter, it was the movies, it was Paris. It was the hero holding a boom box in the rain. I had always wanted to believe I could have love like in the movies. Now, I knew I could. It wasn’t just Hollywood.
I could have this man for the rest of my life and never want for anything more.
32
Kat
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Present Day
* * *
“Something isn’t working.”
Charms and trinkets were spread out on the tray table. I’d aligned them along one of the silver chains I always kept with me. But they didn’t look right. I thought of my mom setting up displays in her store. She’d arrange some picture frames, then mugs, then perhaps a bracelet or two. Inevitably, she took one away.
“It’s what Coco Chanel has always said: ‘Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off,’” my mother had said to me, quoting the fashion icon.
Bryan looked up from the book he was reading on his tablet. We were on the same flight home, and he’d used miles again to upgrade me.
“There’s too much going on,” I said. “It needs to be simpler.”
He grinned and returned to his book. I liked that we could talk constantly or not at all.
Playing around with the design a bit more, I narrowed down the piece to a star, a key, and a sun. I tapped him on the shoulder.
“I like it better. The question is, when you get this big order from Elizabeth’s, how are you going to make them all?”
“Yeah. There is that.” I’d been so focused on the designs and assembling the perfect prototype that I hadn’t started to address the nuts and bolts. Soon, I’d have to. “I’ve always just made them myself.”
“You could keep doing that. If there were ten or twenty of you and several machines to help out as well.”
“Oh, haha.”
“No, I’m serious. You can’t be boutique and bespoke much longer, Kat.”
“I have to land the deal first.” I moved a star trinket to another position on the strand. But it still didn’t look right. “Crap.”
The Second Chance Plan Page 15